Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Shakedown, artist - CASUAL. Album song He Think He Raw, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 31.12.2002
Record label: Hiero Imperium
Song language: English
The Shakedown |
| I could give a fuck who honey kissin' |
| Money missin' makes me turn to Sonny Liston |
| Mercenary on a mission, enter intuition |
| Conditioned, for all the bullshit you’re dishin' |
| I’m about as hard as the times |
| I make mines off rhymes and keep dimes to blow in the wind chimes |
| A Hieroller, you die young, I die older |
| Cy Young holder for throwing this heat |
| The air brung my tongue is shellac’n the blood of the wack |
| It sharpens when I cut up the track, it darkens |
| My crew is recon, who is he, Jon? |
| All in your bitch Louis Vuitton for doin' me wrong |
| Pursuin' me to put two in me? |
| Won’t happen like crowds booin' me, MC fabulous |
| Just bust for a century mo' |
| With ammo and dough in my peripheral, here we go |
| You in analog, digital, 8-track cassette deck |
| Or on your little karaoke stereo |
| You get hands put on you |
| And DM my plans to all provide two or three hot ones in ya potnas |
| Huey P., Harriett Tub', carry the weapon |
| But y’all niggas scary as fuck and |
| I’m luck up, tucked up, in the Bay Area cuts, like what… |
| («It's my thing») |
| Ay, I could give a fuck who honey kissin' |
| Money missin' makes me turn to Sonny Liston |
| Mercenary on a mission, enter intuition |
| Conditioned, for all the bullshit you’re dishin' |
| I could give a fuck who honey kissin' («Hey») |
| Money missin' makes me turn to Sonny Liston |
| Mercenary on a mission, enter intuition |
| Conditioned, for all the bullshit you’re dishin' |
| My rap attracts and re-enacts the facts |
| That’s just part of the art of the rhyme tactics |
| Get checked over the ice, I hit hat tricks |
| Hit 'em in the right spot in they head and they hit back… flips |
| My rap give orbits to atlas |
| And balance with the stakes that shakes the rattlers |
| Trees in a chalice, seeds in nursery school |
| And I’m still a father figure to all you niggas |
| Who test the finesse of the fest or rest collective |
| Poetics, poppin' from the proper perspective |
| What’s your mission? |
| Boy, listen |
| Do too much more dissin', you’re meetin' the mortician |
| Stepped on and trampled for tryin' to gamble |
| I’m a prime example of a rhyming cannibal |
| Razor sharp dart, beams, and lasers |
| Aimed at your neck, to break off the ice glaciers |
| I use reflectors on your motion detectors |
| Stealthy, trained and wealthy |
| Gamed and ready to take names, check Zodiac |
| I’m like Shaq, when I’m rockin' the mic, don’t react |
| («It's my thing») |
| I could give a fuck who honey kissin' («Hey») |
| Look, money missin' makes me turn to Sonny Liston |
| Mercenary on a mission, enter intuition |
| Conditioned, for all the bullshit you’re dishin' |
| I could give a fuck who honey kissin' («Hey») |
| Money missin' makes me turn to Sonny Liston |
| Mercenary on a mission, enter intuition |
| Conditioned, for all the bullshit you’re dishin' |
| I could give a fuck, haha |